Oakley Street
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: The groupies fawning over her boyfriend annoyed Beca, but they were harmless. At least, Jesse always promised they were. There comes a point where she doesn't know who to believe, and the time comes to keep a secret of her own.


_Alright, I haven't written Jeca for a hot minute! I missed them though, so I had to come back. This idea was formed/helped along/requested by my buddy Meg (raincloudparade) and I had to bring it to life!_

_PS - I usually write first person present but I wanted to challenge myself by writing third person past. What do you guys think?_

…

**BECA**

Acapella had to be the nerdiest, least-appealing extracurricular activity on the face of the planet. Beca knew this before she was even involved, but her interests weren't something she could help. Luckily, the boy she loved happened to be a geek like her, although he was much prouder to show it. Jesse flaunted his uncool-ness by simply existing, but he didn't care how he came off to other people. He was unabashedly himself, all the time. She commonly wondered what it took to attain such steadfast confidence. Married parents and a stable childhood, probably; both of which she didn't have.

She was never resentful of Jesse's sunny disposition, though. It worked for her because it worked for him. She couldn't see him any other way besides fun, silly, sentimental and stupid. Those were his best qualities and more often than not, he rubbed off on her rather than the other way around. It took a lot to knock his mood down.

If he was frowning, there was no small reason behind it. She always knew that's when something was really wrong, when he felt really down. If there wasn't a smile on his face, his world had turned upside down. Happiness was Jesse's go-to, his MO, and that's what drew people to him. More than just her, everyone.

It made her proud at first, to have a boyfriend that everyone wanted attention from. To know that _she_ was the one going to bed with him made her feel a certain kind of special that she hadn't felt in her past relationships.

But it got old after a year or so. It was common knowledge that Beca and Jesse were a thing, yet girls around campus - acapella and not - continued to lust after him. Not in a subtle way, either. They liked Beca to know they were after her man, and she was plenty aware. The only one who had no clue, not a clue in hell, was Jesse.

She questioned him over and over again on how he could be so oblivious. He never had a great answer, but she believed wholly and truly that he was telling the truth. He never paid attention to the fawning girls. After a Trebles show, Beca was the one he'd seek out after elbowing through a crowd of salivating teens. It did feel good to gloat in their faces, but she wished there weren't faces to gloat in. She didn't want to share Jesse, not even the idea of him. She hated that his face was in these girls' minds at night. He was Beca's, and that was final. So, she was a little territorial. She was allowed to be.

Tonight, they were at a party she really didn't want to be at. Jesse, though, ever the socialite, was having the time of his life. Their graduation ceremony was next week and finals were over; they were officially free. He wanted to celebrate the best way he knew how, by opening the Treble house to the public, getting wasted, and singing bad karaoke. Beca hated karaoke while sober and despised it while drunk. She didn't understand the draw and she wasn't a huge partygoer, but Jesse loved people. She tagged along because he asked her to.

And maybe, a part of her wanted to police the girls who would undoubtedly find their way to his side and offer him drinks all night, tugging on his t-shirt and pressing their bodies against his as they slipped past. They had one end goal, and it didn't matter that Beca was in the way of it.

The attention from those desperate girls would have a better chance of stopping if Jesse would actually acknowledge the problem. Beca knew that much. But he never did, because he didn't notice. As he held the microphone and belted out a horrible version of "Like A Virgin," his eyes were plastered on his girlfriend only. Beca grimaced as he serenaded her, and felt self-conscious as the rest of the living room's eyes were on her, too. Everyone at this stupid house on Oakley Street was staring, which Jesse made sure of. He always liked to bring the spotlight down on either himself or her when he got trashed. Sometimes, she found it endearing. But other times, like tonight, it was obnoxious. She wanted to go home.

When the song ended, she pushed her way through the thickening crowd to meet Jesse as he climbed off the table. He was sweating and out of breath, exhilarated and on cloud nine when he spoke to her - much too loudly.

"That was great, right?" he shouted over the next song.

"It was something," she muttered, frowning. "How much longer do you think people will be here?"

"I don't know, Bec," he said, glancing around. "A while. The party's barely started! I haven't even taken off my shirt yet."

She sighed and looked to the far wall, where a gaggle of girls listened in on their conversation. "You have to!" one of them shouted, a hand cupped around her mouth. "It's the rule, Jesse."

Jesse laughed as he ripped his shirt off over his head and threw it - Beca couldn't see where it landed. "We are the kings of campus!" he bellowed.

"Oh my god, he's so fucking hot," a girl said. Beca couldn't attach the voice to a face, but whoever said it was nearby. "I knew he'd take it off."

"Jess," Beca said. "I want to go."

"What?" he said, genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"Because I want to go," she said stubbornly, arms crossed.

"This is the last Trebles party basically ever," he said. "We can't leave this early. Nothing's happened yet."

"Well, you took your shirt off," she said stiltedly. "Much to your fans' delight."

"What fans?"

"Seriously?" she said, becoming irritated. "All those girls are staring. They have been all night. Are you gonna pretend you didn't notice?"

"What girls?"

"Oh, my god," she said. "I can't."

"Bec, what? Do you want me to put it back on? I'll find it."

"I don't care!" she said. "Do what you want. You don't notice anyone but yourself anyway."

"Hey, that's not true," he said, sounding wounded. "I notice you."

"How many times have I complained about those bitches?" she snapped. "I'm fucking tired of having to share you with them."

"Babe, you don't share me with anyone," he said. "I'm all yours. Always have been. You know that."

"No, I don't know that," she said, close to crying. "Because you egg them on. You like the attention."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he said. "I don't know where this is coming from."

"It doesn't matter," she said, turning around to make her way to the front door. "I'm going home."

"Bec, wait. Come on."

He took her arm gently to try and turn her back around, but she wrenched it out of his grip. She looked over her shoulder with a fiery expression and narrowed her eyes, warning him without words not to follow her.

The righteous indignation waned on the brisk walk home, and by the time she was in bed with her face washed, she felt cool pangs of sadness instead. It wasn't yet midnight and the Treble house wasn't far away; she could hear the bass bumping from where she lay. She didn't wish she was back there, not at all, but she wished Jesse were here and that he wasn't such a dumbass. He was _her_ dumbass, though, and that counted for something.

She picked her phone up from where she had placed it on the nightstand only to find it empty of notifications. It felt wrong to fall asleep without saying goodnight to him, because that's what they always did. If it wasn't in person, which it usually was, it was over the phone or in a text. Tonight was the first night for as long as she could remember where they didn't say it to each other. No wonder it took forever to get to sleep.

…

In the morning, she woke with a clear head. Hindsight is 20/20, people always said, and last night wasn't Jesse's fault. She couldn't hold it against him that he was attractive and that caught other girls' attention. He never entertained it, not once. Ripping his shirt off wasn't for their benefit, it was some stupid shit he always did during Treble parties. She didn't understand their traditions and had no desire to, but she knew it wasn't for the girls. He sang that awful karaoke song to her, just like always. He wanted to be with her. It was probably a good thing he never noticed the girls obsessing over him. It showed how loyal he truly was.

She acted like an ass last night, storming off while he was having fun. Was she irritated that he hadn't followed her? A little. He usually insisted on walking her home after dark. But he'd been having fun and it was the last Treble party ever. He had a right to stay. She couldn't blame him. If she liked parties and people as much as he did, she would've done the same thing. His world didn't have to revolve around her solely, as long as it didn't revolve around those thirsty chicks. Which it didn't, she knew.

All boys were idiots. They noticed next to nothing. Pretty soon, she and Jesse would be done at Barden anyway and she wouldn't have to worry about his groupies. She'd forget about them and hopefully, they'd forget about him. They had yet to figure out the divide between his wanting to go to New York and her need for LA, but they would work it out. She wanted to be with him. They worked well together. So, she got up, took a shower, and walked back to the Treble house before her hair even had a chance to dry.

She knocked on the door once she got there, shoulders hunched against the cold. It was early June, but the sun was barely up and she was freezing. The knock sounded hollow and elicited no response from inside, not even when she banged a second time.

"Hello?" she called. "Degenerates?"

Nothing.

"Shit," she said, trying the handle. To her surprise, it opened easily. Maybe it shouldn't surprise her, since they were all plastered last night, but she wondered if they thought about intruders at all. Apparently not, because men didn't have to worry like women did.

With that thought aggravating her, she stepped inside to find the place a complete mess. She wasn't known for a pristine living space, but this was on another level. There were bottles and cans everywhere, along with pizza boxes, discarded articles of clothing, and errant shoes. The smell wasn't pretty, either.

"Christ," she muttered, stepping over a pair of balled-up jeans near the breakfast bar.

She figured Jesse wasn't awake yet; none of them were. So, she made her way quietly up the stairs towards his room, the room she'd been in a million times. The first one on the right, closest to the bathroom. Lucky for her when she slept over and wanted the shower first. Not lucky for him at midnight on Taco Tuesday when there was a line out the door.

The door was cracked a little, which was unusual. He liked to sleep with it shut, and so did she. She shook that thought out of her head, though, assuming he had been too drunk to notice, and walked inside. There was a lump under the covers with the sheets obscuring the view of his face, so she walked over, sat on the edge of the mattress, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Jess," she said. "Hey. It's me. I wanted to say I'm sorry."

The lump shifted and Beca lifted her hand, waiting for him to surface. But instead of her boyfriend's bleary eyes and mussed-up hair, arose a blonde girl with muddy mascara and cakey foundation that had clearly been slept on. Hard.

"Sorry?" she muttered, either really hungover or still drunk. "For what?"

"What the hell?" Beca spat, stumbling away from the bed and backpedaling towards the door. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Haven," the girl said.

"Babe?" Jesse said from the hallway. He had just come out of the bathroom. "What're you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Beca raged. "What is _she_ doing here?"

Jesse's eyes shifted to the girl - Haven, apparently - and registered surprise. She scoffed at his audacity to seem baffled. "I don't know who that is," he said.

"Oh, fuck you," Beca said, storming past him. "I don't want to hear it."

"I've never seen her before in my life, Bec!" Jesse said, scrambling after her, taking the steps two at a time.

"Yeah, which makes sense, since she's in your bed. Where you sleep."

"I didn't sleep there last night!"

"Where'd you sleep, then? In the tub?"

"Yes!"

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they'd fall out of her head. "God, I can't fucking believe you," she said. "And I can't fucking believe _me_. That I fell for the 'I only have eyes for you' bullshit. Yeah, right. You're just like everyone else."

"I'm not lying," he said desperately. "I'm not. I swear, I'm not. I'll swear on anything. I passed out-"

"I don't care, Jesse!" she shouted. "I honestly don't. I don't want to hear whatever bullshit excuse you have, because this is over. I'm done. I can't do it anymore."

"Wait," he said, shocked. "What?"

"Yeah," she said, waving him off as she turned her back, headed to the door. "Sorry, but I can't. You said that I could trust you. But obviously, you were lying then, too."

"I wasn't," he said. "And I'm not lying now. I don't know who she… Beca, please."

"Whatever, Jess," she said, already out the door. "Have a nice life."

…

When she got back to her apartment, tears blurred her vision as she tried to will them away. She didn't need to cry, it wouldn't fix anything. What she needed to do was gather the last of her things (luckily mostly everything was already packed up), and get out of there. There was no need to walk at graduation; Barden would mail her diploma when it was ready. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. If she lingered, she knew Jesse would find some way to wriggle back in, and she didn't want that.

He was already blowing up her phone. She silenced it as she tucked toiletries into their designated bag, unable to stand listening to the chime of incoming text messages any longer. But when the texts stopped, the calls started. Her phone rang and rang and rang, but she never picked it up. He didn't deserve to be listened to. He cheated on her, something he knew she was sensitive about after her mom did it to her dad. Two-timing is what broke up her family, which wasn't perfect to begin with. Jesse was the only one she ever confided in about that, how it made her insecure in every adult relationship she'd ever had. Then, he threw it back in her face.

She was going to LA. She had the money for a plane ticket and a second cousin who was a landlord, who promised her a place at a lower price if she decided to go. And now, she was deciding. She wanted to be as far away from Barden and Jesse as possible. She never wanted to think about him or this entire experience ever again. She was going to start fresh - with new people, a new job, and a new outlook. This was the last time she'd ever let her walls down.

When Beca opened the door to wait for the cab, she barely took two steps before running into Jesse. Literally. Her face hit his chest and she took a stutter-step back, somehow angrier than before. She usually didn't mind being reminded that she was small; Jesse always found it adorable. But now, he seemed to tower over her and assert his height in a way that infuriated her.

"Move," she ordered.

"Please, talk to me," he said. "Or just listen. All you have to do is listen. Nothing happened with me and that girl, Haven. The party got crazy last night and we all fell asleep everywhere."

"After some unsavory activities, I'm sure."

"No!" he said. "I passed out in the tub. I honestly did. And my room is the first one at the top of the stairs. She must have just… I don't know, found her way in."

"You suck at lying," she said. "I don't wanna hear this anymore." With perfect timing, her cab pulled up. "I gotta go."

"Beca, no," he said, taking her elbow.

She ripped it away and held her arm close, looking at him with hooded, wounded eyes. "Like I said, have a nice life," she said, then opened the back door of the car as the cabbie loaded her suitcase in the trunk. "I never want to see you again."

Jesse stayed where he was as the cab pulled away, shirtless and in pajama pants, in the wake of dust from the tires. She looked back for only a second before turning around and pressing her eyes shut tight, finally allowing herself to cry.

…

When Beca got to LA, the innate feeling of loneliness crept to her gut and stayed there. It made itself known in the airport and festered once she got to her empty apartment. She was all alone in a giant, loud city with no one in her corner. She didn't want to call her dad, she hadn't talked to her mom in years, and Jesse was out of the question. So, she dialed Chloe's number.

"Hey, sweet thing," Chloe said, chipper as always. Beca could hear a male voice in the background before Chloe giggled and brushed him off. It was definitely Lance, her fiance and male counterpart. From the pictures Beca had seen on Facebook, it seemed they were never apart. "What's up?"

"I'm in LA," Beca told her.

"Wait. What?!" Chloe tittered. "Seriously? Where? I'll come to you."

Chloe had been in LA for the past year because Lance was based there. She worked in art therapy for kids - a perfect position for her sunny disposition. As far as Beca could tell, she loved her job just as much as she loved Lance. Lucky her.

Beca told her the address and Chloe said she'd be over momentarily. She wasn't kidding, either, because the doorbell rang in less than thirty minutes. Beca opened the door still in her clothes from the airplane, feeling just as grimy as the air was 30,000 feet up.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Chloe said, wrapping her friend in a tight hug. "Oh, I missed you!"

"Missed you, too," Beca said, squished against the redhead's shoulder.

Chloe held her at arm's length to get a good look. "Are you okay? You look different. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought graduation wasn't until next week."

"It isn't," Beca said. "I skipped the ceremony. They're gonna mail me my shit."

Chloe frowned - a small line appeared between her eyebrows. "Why aren't you walking?"

"Because I couldn't stand to be there another second," Beca said, leading the way inside her very empty apartment.

"Why? I couldn't stand to get away," Chloe joked.

Beca knew there was no getting around it. Even though Chloe's reaction was sure to be dramatic, she had to tell her. "Me and Jesse are over," she said. "I ended it."

"What!?" Chloe's bright blue eyes widened to the size of half her face. "Are you serious? What? What is going on right now?"

"I walked in on him with another girl," Beca said.

"No… no!" Chloe replied. "Are you sure? That doesn't sound like Jesse."

"Oh, I'm sure," Beca said. "She was in his bed and everything."

Chloe frowned, tilting her head to one side. She looked at Beca with sympathy, then pulled her into another tight embrace. "Oh, sweetie," she said, patting her back. "I'm so sorry. But I gotta give you a little dose of realness that you're probably not gonna like."

"What?"

"You ready?"

"No, not at all."

Chloe took a deep breath and set two steadying hands on her friend's shoulders. "You need to take a pregnancy test, babe."

Now, it was Beca's turn for the giant eyes. "Are you on crack?" she sputtered.

"No, but I know the glow when I see it," Chloe said. "I have a million little siblings. It got to the point where I knew my mom was pregnant before she did. Just ask her."

"I'm not gonna ask her… oh my god," Beca said, fingers pressed against her temples. "Why would you tell me this right now? Like, right now?"

"Well, in my expert opinion, it's not exactly new," Chloe said.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Beca. Don't tell me you haven't been having symptoms," she said firmly.

Beca thought back. She thought the nausea in the mornings a month or so ago was due to stress about finals. She thought the bloat was because of the shit food she was eating. She blamed the lack of a period on anxiety.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered.

"I'll go to the pharmacy. Be _right_ back," Chloe said. "Seriously, so fast."

Beca sat on the floor the entire time Chloe was gone and stared into space. There was no way to know how far along she was. There was no doubt in her mind that she actually was pregnant; all the symptoms were there. She'd just been too idiotic to notice, too wrapped up in Jesse, herself, and college life. But she could be six months along, for all she knew. Wasn't it true that smaller women carried their babies differently? Her mom used to say that she got away with keeping Beca a secret until she popped out one March evening. That made Beca feel really great.

When Chloe came back, she walked in to find Beca in the middle of the empty living room with the phone ringing off the hook at her side.

"Is that…?"

"Yeah. And I don't wanna talk to him."

"Even if you're…?"

"Especially not then."

"Okay," Chloe said, clearly judging her but choosing not to say anything. She pressed the test into Beca's palm with care. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"And watch me pee? No, thanks."

"Beca, be serious. This is big."

"Yeah. I'm good, thanks," Beca said, and gave her a perfunctory smile. As they spoke, the phone made all kinds of noise next to them. "God, hold on," Beca said as she lifted it from the floor. She waited until Jesse's contact photo disappeared from the screen and then made her way to Settings, where she quickly blocked his number. She didn't tell Chloe exactly what she was doing, but due to the silence that fell over the room, she was sure her friend could guess.

Chloe's eyes grazed over the phone as Beca set it back down, but Beca didn't stay for questioning. She went into the bathroom and came out fifteen minutes later with a result she knew she would get.

She inhaled deeply and stared at the test, which showed the double lines so proudly it seemed to be gloating. "Well," Beca said, with a lump in her throat and a baby growing in her belly. "Guess I'm pregnant."

**JESSE**

**TWO YEARS LATER**

When his ex-girlfriend dumped him, he was still living in the Treble house on Oakley Street and every single thing around every single corner reminded him of her. It was true, bad memories were housed there. But some of their best times also happened under that roof. Routine times, too. Her shampoo was still in his shower, her socks were tucked under his covers, her tiny sweatshirts were hanging over his desk chair. He couldn't get away from her. He didn't really want to, if he was being honest, but she wanted so badly to get away from him that it was easier to mirror the sentiment instead of fight it.

He lived the life that was expected of him. He didn't score movies, at least not yet. But he did review them for a freelance company that paid alright. He wasn't living large by any means, but he wasn't starving and there was a roof over his head in New York City. A shabby roof, but a roof nonetheless.

This week, though, he was in LA for work and thrown completely out of his element. Where NYC was cold, LA was hot. The people were skinnier and tanner and meaner. It was a total fabrication, the idea that everyone in NYC was bitchy. They really weren't. Jesse had felt welcomed the moment he stepped foot into the city, more at home than he'd felt in a while without his favorite person by his side. For the past couple years, the city had been his stand-in girlfriend, and he learned to be okay with that.

The city he was in at the moment couldn't compare, though. It was smoggy, for one. He could barely get a good breath in. It felt like he was breathing everyone else's discarded oxygen, and it was disgusting. He was sweating, too; it trickled down his back like a slow warning. He wanted out, that much he knew, but it wasn't possible. He had an assignment to complete, and he had to be here to do it. It was an opportunity that could hopefully be his step up in the company - interviewing the director of the latest Tom Hanks movie. He was pretty stoked. But he still wished it would have taken place in NYC.

The meeting with the director was tomorrow, and he had time to kill. The hotel food was too expensive, so he changed out of his sweaty clothes and walked to the grocery store around the corner. In the city, he would call it a bodega. He had no idea what they called it here, but he didn't spend much time thinking about it. He wanted a drink and maybe a frozen pizza. A sad meal, but not one that he was above.

Standing in the checkout line that was a thousand miles long, he spent idle time letting his eyes roam the trashy tabloids lining the shelves. Julia Roberts got married, Jennifer Aniston got divorced, Billie Eilish signed a new producer. There was a candid photo of the singer in her typical baggy clothes, but joining her was someone Jesse couldn't help but recognize.

Though she was trying to hide her face with a pair of wide, black sunglasses, he knew Beca when he saw her. She had the same pointy knees, same angular face, same pretty brown hair. There was one thing different about her, though. She held a baby on her hip. As natural as ever, too.

It was something that crossed his mind now and again when they were together, but he never voiced his thoughts out loud. He never thought she'd agree to have kids. She wasn't the type. But there she was, carting around a little girl who was so painfully, clearly hers. The same hair, the same look on her face. But the color of her eyes, he noticed, wasn't blue like Beca's. They were brown like his own.

…

Needless to say, he bought the magazine and pored over it once he got back to the hotel. He didn't find out much about Beca - the article focused mainly on Billie - but he did find out the studio in which Billie was signed. Presumably, the studio where Beca worked. He needed to get there. He was afraid to state the reason, even to himself. All he knew was that he needed to get to Interscope Records as fast as humanly possible. So, instead of trying to figure out the LA bus system, he called an Uber and practically sweated to death while inside it. Not because of heat - the AC was going full blast - but because of nerves.

That little girl was his. She had to be. The thought alone scared him half to death and infuriated him, too. What did it mean if he was right? That Beca kept a _child_ from him for all this time? It had been over two years since they last spoke on the day she left. He'd tried and tried to contact her, no one could say he didn't put forth effort, but she blocked him. On everything.

He was pissed as hell, and pissed at himself for being excited to see her. And when he thought of 'her,' he wasn't sure which 'her' he meant.

He got out of the Uber at the record label and found his way inside easily. He answered to a secretary and said he was there to meet Beca Mitchell.

"Do you have an appointment, sir?" the girl asked.

"No," he said. "But she'll see me."

"All guests are required to make an appointment," she insisted. "Ms. Mitchell is booked until next month. Can I take your name?"

"I'm… no," he said, adamant. "She'll know who I am. Tell her that Jesse Swanson really needs to speak to her."

"Mr. Swanson, I can put you down for Friday the 2nd," she said. "Of next month."

"That isn't an option," he said, beginning to lose hope. "I really…"

Distracting him from his useless tirade, someone familiar came out of the elevator on the opposite side of the lobby. Not Beca, but Chloe. He recognized her instantly not only because of the hair, but because of the way she was speaking. She was talking in baby talk to the toddler on her hip - the same toddler from the tabloids.

"Chloe," Jesse said, turning his back on the secretary.

"Wait, sir, no!" she called after him, but he ignored her. He was on a different mission now.

"Chloe!" he said again, and caught her attention this time.

She looked over her shoulder with the little girl on her hip, one arm situated under her bottom with a free hand on her calf. The child was wearing the tiniest pair of jeans Jesse had ever seen, paired with a magenta hoodie. Her brown hair was pulled half back, and when she made eye contact with Jesse, he practically fell over.

"Choe, wait," he said. "Please."

She stopped in her tracks and flashed him an expression that would be comical in any other situation. Pure shock was written all over her face. "Jesse…" she muttered, blinking rapidly. "Jesse. You're here. You're…"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm here."

Chloe didn't seem to know what to say. The little one stared at Jesse with intensity, barely blinking at all, her lips parted until her thumb slipped inside her mouth. She eyed him warily as she rested her head on Chloe's shoulder, and Chloe hitched her a little higher, a bit closer. The eye contact that Jesse held asked every relevant question; they didn't need to speak.

But Chloe was determined to cover up for her best friend. "This is my daughter," she said, voice wavering.

Jesse was about to refute her statement, call her out on the lie, before the little girl spoke up herself. She swiveled at the waist and extended both arms, saying, "Mama!"

Jesse looked in the direction in which she spoke and saw Beca coming from the elevator, signing a clipboard presented to her by a harried-looking assistant. When they skittered off, she said, "Baby!"

"Beca," Chloe said gravely, then shifted her eyes to where Jesse stood.

Beca's gaze followed, and when she saw him, she stopped cold. The child continued to reach, though, until she was able to wriggle out of Chloe's grasp and toddle over to Beca on wobbly legs. Beca picked her up easily, and she was much more content. Still, no one spoke.

"What're you doing here?" Beca finally said after what must have been hours.

"I'm here for work," Jesse answered, then gestured towards the little girl before getting straight to the point. "Is she mine?"

"She's mine," Beca said territorially, tightening her arms around the toddler as if Jesse were the type to snatch her.

"But…"

"You can't be here," Beca said, one hand on the back of the little girl's head. "This is private property."

"Beca… is she…?" Jesse said, his voice weaker than before.

Beca's eyes glistened, giving away her emotional state. Even her chin quivered, which made Jesse's chest ache. He never liked to see her cry.

"Mama," the little girl said, touching Beca's cheek. "Crying."

"Mama's okay," Beca said, kissing her child's forehead once, then twice for good measure. "I'm okay. Um…" She made eye contact with Jesse. "I guess we should talk, then."

"Guess so."

"Not here," she said, stroking the little one's hair. "My house. I'll give you the address."

…

Her house wasn't what he expected, although he had never conjured up a good image in his mind. It wasn't ultra-modern, but it wasn't warm and cozy, either. It was somewhere in the middle, a happy medium that she was comfortable in. Maybe not exactly comfortable with him there, but it was her space. That much was obvious.

"Come in," Beca said, the baby on one hip and a diaper bag over her shoulder. It was wild for Jesse to see her like this; he never thought he would. It was so domestic, so homey. The fact that he wasn't included in this picture made a bad taste rise in his throat. "You can sit anywhere."

He chose the couch that had a great view of the hills behind her house. The sun was just beginning to set, and the light was beautiful. Once Beca set her daughter - their daughter - down, the baby toddled over to the toy box and pulled out a stuffed dog to give it a big hug. Then, she made her way to Jesse and showed it to him.

"Pot," she said.

"Hi, Pot," he said, smiling at the stuffed toy.

"No," she said. "_Pot_."

"She's telling you his name is Spot," Beca said, coming around the corner with two glasses of water and a baby snack that Jesse couldn't make heads or tails of. "Here, baby," she said, and the little one hurried over to grab whatever Beca had for her.

"Um… so, she's mine. Right?" Jesse asked, though he already knew the answer. He needed to hear her say it.

"Yes," Beca said. She had the decency to sound ashamed, which he appreciated.

"What's her name?"

"Oakley Joy," she said, and Oakley looked up at the sound of her name. Beca smiled and motioned for her to come over, which she did. Beca dropped a kiss to her brunette head, then gave a routine peck to Spot as well. Jesse could tell it was something she did often.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. He had been angry before, so angry. But now, he couldn't muster up half of that feeling. As he sat there and looked at the two of them, so perfect together, all he felt was love. And a terrible amount of aching from the hole in his life that Beca had left.

"You cheated on me," she said, eyes alight. Her jaw clenched and she clasped her hands together, wringing them like she used to do whenever she felt something strongly. "Why would I stay with you after that?"

"Bec," he said gently. "Do you really think I would ever cheat on you?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, it matters what I saw," she said. "And I saw that girl in your bed. What more evidence do I need, Jesse, honestly?"

"I wasn't lying back then," he said. "I didn't sleep in my bed that night. I slept in the tub because I blacked out. I slept in the tub alone, and had the backache to prove it for days after. You wouldn't let me explain. Or, you did, a little, but you didn't believe me. And you kept my daughter from me."

"How do I know that's the truth?" she asked.

A small, sad sound escaped his throat. "Because I love you," he said. "Because I always did, and I wouldn't lie to you. I never have, about anything. I know how much it hurt when your mom broke you guys up. I would never, ever... You were the only one I ever saw, Bec."

She looked down at her knees, shaking her head. He watched tear droplets fall and hit her jeans, but didn't say anything. He let her cry and do what she needed to do. Feel whatever she needed to feel, because she was allowed to.

"I did an awful thing," she said. "I know I shouldn't have. But… I was so mad, and I thought you really did go behind my back. Those girls were always on you, and I was just _there_."

"I don't care about those girls and I never did," he said. "Didn't I tell you that a million times?"

"I know," she said. "That's why it's pathetic, and evil… what I did. I thought about you every night. It was hard not to. She's your twin."

He smiled slightly and looked to his daughter - their daughter - as she sat cross-legged on the carpet, sharing her snack with Spot.

"I wanted to call you. Or take it all back. But I was scared," she said. "Scared of how mad you'd be. But _I_ was mad, too."

"I wanted to explain," he said. "But you blocked me."

"I know," she said. "That was a mistake. All of this… all of it was a mistake, and I'm sorry."

"Well," he said, glancing at Oakley again. "Not all of it."

"No," Beca said with a waterlogged voice. "You're right about that."

Later, after a bath and changing her into pajamas, Beca brought Oakley back downstairs. With wet, combed hair, the baby ran to Jesse and showed her something she had clenched in a tiny fist. "Thomas," she said. "Here Thomas."

"Wow," Jesse said, running his finger over the bumps and ridges of Thomas the Tank Engine. "He's awesome."

"Thomas," Oakley said with a smile.

"She loves Thomas," Beca said, appearing on the couch with a bottle.

"I did, too, when I was little," Jesse said, marveling over Oakley. It was true, a lot of little kids liked Thomas the Tank Engine. But the fact that he once did and might have passed down that passion to his daughter felt special.

"Baba," Oakley said, reaching for what Beca had.

"She's too old for this, I know," Beca said. "But warm milk helps her sleep, and we only do this at bedtime."

"Look who went and made you soft," Jesse said lightly.

"Well…" Beca said, smiling. "Yeah. She's got a hold over me." She looked between Jesse's face and the bottle. "Um… would you… like to give it to her? She can do it herself. She's not a baby. Right, Oakley?"

"Not a baby."

"But it's just a little bedtime thing we do."

"Yes, of course," Jesse said, honored. "Are you sure?"

"You're her father, Jess," Beca said. "I'm sure." Then, she looked at the little girl. "Would it be okay if Jesse gave you your bottle tonight?" she asked.

Oakley came over confidently, much in the style of her mother, and plunked herself in Jesse's lap. "Baba," she said, and Beca handed it to him.

With help from the little girl's hands, he tipped the bottle into her mouth and met her eyes for a soft moment. Something in his chest cracked and oozed warmth all the way to the tips of his fingers; he was amazed over the fact that he was holding his daughter. He and Beca had a child, and he had her in his arms.

"You're a natural," Beca said, a smile in her voice.

All Jesse could do in the way of a response was grin. First at Beca, then at Oakley, who was getting drowsier by the second. As time went on, they would explain to her who Jesse was, but that much wouldn't come tonight. For tonight, this was enough.

"You named her Oakley," Jesse said, watching the little girl's eyes close. "For the…"

"For the house," Beca said. "On Oakley Street."


End file.
